Snippet #2559307

"Here y'are," a female voice broke Eilin out of her thoughts. She looked over just in time to see a young woman setting a pint of mead onto the table, a second mug in her hand ready for delivery to another patron. "Ven says the food will be out shortly," she informed Eilin, who nodded in return but said nothing in response. She expected the waitress to move on her way, though the girl stood there, eyeing her for a moment until Eilin arched a brow in question.

"I never seen Ven drop a price like that," she noted, tilting her head slightly to the side and propping her free hand against her hip. "What'd you tell him anyway?"

"That I'm new in these parts," Eilin replied, turning her head away to look at the fire. A silent signal that she preferred to have her solitude. The waitress did not move, however, and when Eilin glanced back she found the girl still watching her curiously. It was quite clear to her that the waitress was expecting a more exciting explanation. Girl gossip perhaps. When Eilin said nothing further, however, it became evident that this wasn't going to happen.

"Hmm... Well, enjoy," the waitress finally said with a shrug of her shoulders. She cast Eilin a smile and and went on her way. Left alone, Eilin turned to her drink, picking it up and studying the contents for a moment. In truth, she had no idea if she even wanted it. She preferred to keep her mind clear most of the time. However, she thought of Sverre being somewhere in the village and lifted the mug to take a swig of the drink. Perhaps tonight was as good as any to relax herself. If anything did go wrong, she could fight her way out as long a she didn't overindulge.

Her thoughts straying, Eilin found herself gazing into the near-by flames as she sipped on her drink. She was only afforded a few minutes of silent reflection. It was the fall of approaching footsteps and a figure coming into her line of sight that snapped her back to reality. She half expected the arrival of her supper. Instead, a gruff male voice spoke up and Eilin turned her head to look up at a man who seemed well on his way to getting drunk. His words didn't earn any immediate reaction from her. She briefly looked him over. Though before she had a chance to give a reply, a hand landed on her shoulder and an alarmingly familiar voice spoke up.

Underneath Sverre's hand, Eilin's muscles tensed, her mind highly alert and tuned into his sudden presence. It was with slow deliberation that she lowered her hand, setting the mug back down on the table silently even as the two men exchanged remarks. They knew each other. They did not like one another. The fact that the man in front of her was still alive was somewhat surprising.

“The lady can speak for herself,” she remarked while the man fumed. Her tone of voice was calm for the moment, though it carried a sharp edge to it. Her gaze was still trained on the man, watching his reaction. Her words seemed to have put some nerve back into him, it seemed, for he relaxed slightly as he fixated back on her, meeting her gaze and keeping it.

“Yeah. See. The lady can speak for herself,” he announced and gave a chuckle. Eilin sensed relief from him. As if he imagined he had won something. Her own expression didn't budge. “So what'll be darlin'?” he asked.

“Turn around and walk away,” Eilin replied simply. The man's face fell, his gaze flitting to Sverre momentarily. The brief victory snatched away quicker than he could fully appreciate it.

“Now look'eir -” he started, his words becoming slurred with the return of anger.

“Turn around....” Eilin cut in, not caring one bit for anything else he had to say. “... and walk away.”

“Or ye'll do what?” the man spat, all pretense gone as he slammed a hand down on the table. The sudden noise caused a few patrons near-by to look around, though Eilin remained unfazed.

“Put you out of your misery. If you are lucky,” she said. “Else, it will not be me you deal with.”

The implication was subtle, suggesting that she would let the two men fight it out. Of course she knew the outcome of such an altercation and truth be told she would not allow it to happen. She was simply fishing for a certain reaction from him. She got it a moment later as the man straightened up, glancing up at Sverre again. His anger turned into a sneer and he shook his head, attempting to pull his wits about him.

“Ain't worth it,” he spat. “Keep yer wench. I don wan'er.”

With one last look of hatred, he chucked his mug into the hearth. It shattered, the alcoholic contents sending the fire roaring up and cinders flying in all directions. Without a pause, the man turned and stormed off, shoving his way past startled looking patrons.

Eilin watched him go, a part of her mind intent on making sure he left the inn. The other was focused on Sverre's hand. If he so much as moved to follow the man out, she intended to stop him. Only when she felt it was safe did she move her shoulder, shaking Sverre's hand off as she leaned forward in her chair.

“Touch me again and you will miss your hand,” she hissed at him. She turned her head to the side, her gaze flickering up and over to see him looming over her. Where had he even come from? She had made sure that he was no where near when she had sat down. Her eyes narrowed as she shot him a warning look. “Call me your friend once more, and miss your tongue,” she added. Though she made no move to grab for any of her weapons yet, it was clear that she was on alert.